


To Annoy a Witcher

by hughjackman



Category: The Witcher, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Father-Daughter Relationship, Geralt is a Brother, Geralt is a dad, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Reader-Insert, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22173295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hughjackman/pseuds/hughjackman
Summary: Five times Geralt hated the bard’s song, and the one time he didn’t.
Relationships: Geralt of Rivia x OC, Geralt of Rivia x reader, Geralt x OC, Geralt x reader, The Witcher x OC, The Witcher x reader, Witcher x OC, Witcher x reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 94





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reader is 16, here. Enjoy!

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher!”_

Geralt of Rivia instantly shot up in his makeshift bed on the forest floor, grappling for the sword by his side and blinking his wide, tired eyes as they darted around and searched for any sign of danger. His wild hair, freed from its band in the night, was sticking up in awkward angles, and he looked positively hilarious, so nobody could really fault you for bursting into laughter the moment he jolted awake.

He snapped his head around as your laughter reached his ears.

“What the fuck, Willow?” His voice was dripping with exhaustion, still slightly slurred from sleep, and you snorted.

“Whahat?”

“Why do you feel the need to shout in my ear?” Your laughter increased and he sighed, reaching his hands up to rub at his eyes. Now he was sure there was no cause for concern – unless that concern was for his rapidly beating heart – he relinquished his weak hold on the hilt of his sword and let out a yawn.

“I was just singing,” you informed him with a shrug and a smile before turning to walk back to your bed.

Geralt watched after you for a moment, eyes drooping with sleep, before he rolled them and pushed his blanket off. The sun was beginning to rise, birds starting to tweet in the canopies of autumn leaves and branches above, a warm breeze ambling silently through the air.

“I pity the ears of those who have to listen to you _singing_ ,” he said with a groan as he stood to his feet and stretched.

“It’s the bard’s song,” you told him, “I don’t know why you’re so unappreciative. He made it specially for you.” You rolled up your blanket and stuffed it in your pack. It was a beautiful morning, perfect for going in the direction to nowhere. People must have thought you mad for actually enjoying your life. On the road. The best place to be. No home to care for, not many possessions to love. Just a person. And a horse.

“I didn’t ask for it,” Geralt grumbled back.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to travel with you, but here I am.” He shot you a look from where he was tacking up Roach.

“Would you like me to dump you back in the basket I found you in?” You childishly stuck your tongue out in his direction, and he rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. It was good that the both of you were entirely too much like each other to feel very bothered by the – mostly dark – jokes and insults constantly spurting from your mouths. The prospect of your abandonment didn’t really hit home with you. You’d been left to the creatures of the woods, your parents most definitely expecting – and hoping – that some dark monster would come across your basket for a tasty meal, and Geralt had found you during one of his hunts. What more was there to say? If you ever met your parents, you were quite sure you wouldn’t give a damn, but either way they would be lucky if Geralt left them alive. Quite frankly, you wouldn’t have wanted them to keep you, anyway. Life with your Witcher was a life worth living.

“Idiot,” you said moodily, attaching your pack to Roach’s saddle.

Geralt shoved you. “Pain in my ass.”


	2. 2

“To the right. Now, left. And _block_!” The clang of metal hitting metal echoed around the forest as you hit your sword against Geralt’s. He nodded and stepped back. “Good.”

Training. There was nothing both better and worse than _training_. You loved it, because it gave you something to do, and the sword was a joy to learn, but you hated it… because Geralt was your teacher.

You loved him. You really did. But he was a Witcher. And you… _weren’t_. He fought with one hand behind his back, completely effortlessly, and while you knew you weren’t a bad swordfighter, and you knew you were still only learning, he definitely was something to live up to. Of course, you never _would_ live up to his fighting abilities, considering he wasn’t even human, but you hoped _some_ day you’d at least be a fair match for him.

Not that you _needed_ to be. Witcher hunts were strictly forbidden for you.

“And again.” Breathing heavily, you got back into position and waited for him to make his attack. The two of you danced around the small clearing he’d chosen for your impromptu training session, Roach watching occasionally from her quiet grazing spot tied to a tree. After a short while, Geralt blocked your sword with his own and, somehow, hit it from your hands. “Stop doing that,” he said, pointing his weapon at you.

You frowned. “Doing what? You’re the one who hit my sword away from me!”

“Humming.”

Humming? “I wasn’t humming.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Oh, please accept my apologies. It must have been Roach.”

Glaring at him, you moved to pick up your sword. “I didn’t realise I was.”

“It’s that damn song.”

“What song?”

“The boy’s.”

Your eyes widened and brows rose in realisation, and you grinned. “Ah! I _was_ humming that! I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I noticed,” Geralt deadpanned. “Curse him, wherever he is,” he said a little under his breath, but you still heard it and shook your head with a smile. For a reserved man, he definitely was impatient, especially when it came to that song. Which was why you loved to annoy him so much with it.

“Stop humming,” he told you, clearly gritting his teeth.

You shrugged. “I can’t help it. It’s just so good! You love it, really, don’t you? Toss a coin to your Witcher! O’ Valley of Plenty!”

What was the quickest way to die in a forest?


End file.
